Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📖

came to the door of

the inn. “Bill’s been overhauled a’ready,” said he;

“nothin’ left.”

 

“It’s these people of the inn—it’s that boy. I wish I

had put his eyes out!” cried the blind man, Pew.

“There were no time ago—they had the door bolted when

I tried it. Scatter, lads, and find ‘em.”

 

“Sure enough, they left their glim here,” said the

fellow from the window.

 

“Scatter and find ‘em! Rout the house out!” reiterated

Pew, striking with his stick upon the road.

 

Then there followed a great to-do through all our old

inn, heavy feet pounding to and fro, furniture thrown

over, doors kicked in, until the very rocks re-echoed

and the men came out again, one after another, on the

road and declared that we were nowhere to be found.

And just the same whistle that had alarmed my mother

and myself over the dead captain’s money was once more

clearly audible through the night, but this time twice

repeated. I had thought it to be the blind man’s trumpet,

so to speak, summoning his crew to the assault, but I now

found that it was a signal from the hillside towards the

hamlet, and from its effect upon the buccaneers, a signal

to warn them of approaching danger.

 

“There’s Dirk again,” said one. “Twice! We’ll have to

budge, mates.”

 

“Budge, you skulk!” cried Pew. “Dirk was a fool and a

coward from the first—you wouldn’t mind him. They

must be close by; they can’t be far; you have your

hands on it. Scatter and look for them, dogs! Oh,

shiver my soul,” he cried, “if I had eyes!”

 

This appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of

the fellows began to look here and there among the

lumber, but half-heartedly, I thought, and with half an

eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest

stood irresolute on the road.

 

“You have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you

hang a leg! You’d be as rich as kings if you could

find it, and you know it’s here, and you stand there

skulking. There wasn’t one of you dared face Bill, and

I did it—a blind man! And I’m to lose my chance for you!

I’m to be a poor, crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when

I might be rolling in a coach! If you had the pluck of a

weevil in a biscuit you would catch them still.”

 

“Hang it, Pew, we’ve got the doubloons!” grumbled one.

 

“They might have hid the blessed thing,” said another.

“Take the Georges, Pew, and don’t stand here squalling.”

 

Squalling was the word for it; Pew’s anger rose so high

at these objections till at last, his passion

completely taking the upper hand, he struck at them

right and left in his blindness and his stick sounded

heavily on more than one.

 

These, in their turn, cursed back at the blind

miscreant, threatened him in horrid terms, and tried in

vain to catch the stick and wrest it from his grasp.

 

This quarrel was the saving of us, for while it was

still raging, another sound came from the top of the

hill on the side of the hamlet—the tramp of horses

galloping. Almost at the same time a pistol-shot,

flash and report, came from the hedge side. And that

was plainly the last signal of danger, for the

buccaneers turned at once and ran, separating in every

direction, one seaward along the cove, one slant across

the hill, and so on, so that in half a minute not a

sign of them remained but Pew. Him they had deserted,

whether in sheer panic or out of revenge for his ill

words and blows I know not; but there he remained

behind, tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and

groping and calling for his comrades. Finally he took

a wrong turn and ran a few steps past me, towards the

hamlet, crying, “Johnny, Black Dog, Dirk,” and other

names, “you won’t leave old Pew, mates—not old Pew!”

 

Just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four

or five riders came in sight in the moonlight and swept

at full gallop down the slope.

 

At this Pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and

ran straight for the ditch, into which he rolled. But

he was on his feet again in a second and made another

dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest

of the coming horses.

 

The rider tried to save him, but in vain. Down went

Pew with a cry that rang high into the night; and the

four hoofs trampled and spurned him and passed by. He

fell on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face

and moved no more.

 

I leaped to my feet and hailed the riders. They were

pulling up, at any rate, horrified at the accident; and

I soon saw what they were. One, tailing out behind the

rest, was a lad that had gone from the hamlet to Dr.

Livesey’s; the rest were revenue officers, whom he had

met by the way, and with whom he had had the

intelligence to return at once. Some news of the

lugger in Kitt’s Hole had found its way to Supervisor

Dance and set him forth that night in our direction,

and to that circumstance my mother and I owed our

preservation from death.

 

Pew was dead, stone dead. As for my mother, when we

had carried her up to the hamlet, a little cold water

and salts and that soon brought her back again, and she

was none the worse for her terror, though she still

continued to deplore the balance of the money. In the

meantime the supervisor rode on, as fast as he could,

to Kitt’s Hole; but his men had to dismount and grope

down the dingle, leading, and sometimes supporting,

their horses, and in continual fear of ambushes; so it

was no great matter for surprise that when they got

down to the Hole the lugger was already under way,

though still close in. He hailed her. A voice

replied, telling him to keep out of the moonlight or he

would get some lead in him, and at the same time a

bullet whistled close by his arm. Soon after, the

lugger doubled the point and disappeared. Mr. Dance

stood there, as he said, “like a fish out of water,”

and all he could do was to dispatch a man to B–- to

warn the cutter. “And that,” said he, “is just about

as good as nothing. They’ve got off clean, and there’s

an end. Only,” he added, “I’m glad I trod on Master

Pew’s corns,” for by this time he had heard my story.

 

I went back with him to the Admiral Benbow, and you

cannot imagine a house in such a state of smash; the

very clock had been thrown down by these fellows in

their furious hunt after my mother and myself; and

though nothing had actually been taken away except the

captain’s money-bag and a little silver from the till,

I could see at once that we were ruined. Mr. Dance

could make nothing of the scene.

 

“They got the money, you say? Well, then, Hawkins, what

in fortune were they after? More money, I suppose?”

 

“No, sir; not money, I think,” replied I. “In fact,

sir, I believe I have the thing in my breast pocket;

and to tell you the truth, I should like to get it put

in safety.”

 

“To be sure, boy; quite right,” said he. “I’ll take

it, if you like.”

 

“I thought perhaps Dr. Livesey—” I began.

 

“Perfectly right,” he interrupted very cheerily,

“perfectly right—a gentleman and a magistrate. And,

now I come to think of it, I might as well ride round

there myself and report to him or squire. Master Pew’s

dead, when all’s done; not that I regret it, but he’s

dead, you see, and people will make it out against an

officer of his Majesty’s revenue, if make it out they

can. Now, I’ll tell you, Hawkins, if you like, I’ll

take you along.”

 

I thanked him heartily for the offer, and we walked back

to the hamlet where the horses were. By the time I had

told mother of my purpose they were all in the saddle.

 

“Dogger,” said Mr. Dance, “you have a good horse; take

up this lad behind you.”

 

As soon as I was mounted, holding on to Dogger’s belt,

the supervisor gave the word, and the party struck out

at a bouncing trot on the road to Dr. Livesey’s house.

 

6

 

The Captain’s Papers

 

WE rode hard all the way till we drew up before Dr.

Livesey’s door. The house was all dark to the front.

 

Mr. Dance told me to jump down and knock, and Dogger

gave me a stirrup to descend by. The door was opened

almost at once by the maid.

 

“Is Dr. Livesey in?” I asked.

 

No, she said, he had come home in the afternoon but had gone

up to the hall to dine and pass the evening with the squire.

 

“So there we go, boys,” said Mr. Dance.

 

This time, as the distance was short, I did not mount,

but ran with Dogger’s stirrup-leather to the lodge

gates and up the long, leafless, moonlit avenue to

where the white line of the hall buildings looked on

either hand on great old gardens. Here Mr. Dance

dismounted, and taking me along with him, was admitted

at a word into the house.

 

The servant led us down a matted passage and showed us

at the end into a great library, all lined with

bookcases and busts upon the top of them, where the

squire and Dr. Livesey sat, pipe in hand, on either

side of a bright fire.

 

I had never seen the squire so near at hand. He was a

tall man, over six feet high, and broad in proportion,

and he had a bluff, rough-and-ready face, all roughened

and reddened and lined in his long travels. His

eyebrows were very black, and moved readily, and this

gave him a look of some temper, not bad, you would say,

but quick and high.

 

“Come in, Mr. Dance,” says he, very stately and condescending.

 

“Good evening, Dance,” says the doctor with a nod.

“And good evening to you, friend Jim. What good wind

brings you here?”

 

The supervisor stood up straight and stiff and told his

story like a lesson; and you should have seen how the

two gentlemen leaned forward and looked at each other,

and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest.

When they heard how my mother went back to the inn, Dr.

Livesey fairly slapped his thigh, and the squire cried

“Bravo!” and broke his long pipe against the grate.

Long before it was done, Mr. Trelawney (that, you will

remember, was the squire’s name) had got up from his

seat and was striding about the room, and the doctor,

as if to hear the better, had taken off his powdered

wig and sat there looking very strange indeed with his

own close-cropped black poll.

 

At last Mr. Dance finished the story.

 

“Mr. Dance,” said the squire, “you are a very noble

fellow. And as for riding down that black, atrocious

miscreant, I regard it as an act of virtue, sir, like

stamping on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump,

I perceive. Hawkins, will you ring that bell? Mr.

Dance must have some ale.”

 

“And so, Jim,” said the doctor, “you have the thing

that they were after, have you?”

 

“Here it is, sir,” said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.

 

The